Flecked
by Lily-On-Water
Summary: Black eyes flecked with gold stare up at her, they are vibrant and alive in what must be a stark contradiction to the title blazing above them. HATE CRIME SUSPECTED IN DEATH OF WINGED YOUTH. She can't comprehend what she is reading... what she is seeing..
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I do not own Maximum Ride, sometimes I pretend that I do, but really I don't. **

**HATE CRIME SUSPECTED IN DEATH OF WINGED-YOUTH**, the title blares up at her from the paper, a summary complete with pictures underneath of it. She doesn't want to believe it. Her hands are shaking and the paper falls to the floor, she picks it back up but she can't see anything; her body won't straiten back up so she lets it fall to the floor. She hardly feels the lightning bolt that strikes her shin as it hits the carpeted-concrete of the kitchen floor; if it makes a sound it is lost to her. She can't see anything, her eyes are filled with tears, so many tears, and for what… she hardly remembers… but that's not true.

That's not quite true… because even as the tears spill onto the carpet it's as though each one reins in a different memory of this boy… this boy with the golden flakes in his eyes… You can't see them in the picture, it's black and white and the quality is something awful, but she knows they are there all the same… She knows without a doubt that they are there and that she could tell you exactly where they glistened at; once upon a time she had had those eyes down-pat, maybe she still does because looking at them now she knows without a doubt that she could still tell you exactly where each of those golden flakes fell and she could do it in a matter of seconds. Even with this grainy photo she could tell you… funny because up until a few seconds ago she hadn't thought of this boy once in the last four or five years. Now he fills her every thought.

When they were fourteen he had told her that he loved her and she had felt a burning inside, but then it had been pleasant; it had something that brought warmth instead of agony. He had given her a ring and when he left her she had tried to throw it away but like magic it had kept coming back to her; even now she still has it, in her jewelry box third drawer left compartment… in a tiny gold box. She had put it there years ago, back before she ever moved away from the flock, after she had started seriously dating Dylan and had stopped wearing the ring around her neck… she had put it in the box for safe-keeping. As far as she knows she's the only one who is aware of its location and it had always been her intention to keep it that way, right up until a few years ago when she had forgotten about it completely.

How could she have forgotten about it? How could she have forgotten about him? How could she have dared to even so much as falter over the memory of his scent and of his lips on hers, his arms around her? What part of her had decided that was okay? What part of her had allowed him to sneak out of some forgotten window of her sub consciousness; what part of her had taken its eye off of him long enough for that to happen... When had it happened? Surely sometime after marrying Dylan but before having Jamie…but when then; when did Fang stop becoming a part of her every thought and when did he eventually escape her mind altogether? When had it happened and how…that's all she wants to know; when it had happened and how.

Her finger burns and she knows, without a doubt that if that burn were to surface it would be exactly where she had worn his ring; where she had worn it every day for years. She needs that ring now. She needs to feel the coolness of it against her burning hot skin; she needs it to tame the fire that is running amuck through her body… not to put it out, but to at least tame it. With a sigh that is only partly above a sob she tries furtively to wrench herself from the cold floor where she lay; she tries, without success to make her limbs work correctly beneath of her, but they won't. They are shaking so hard that she knows even if she managed to stand up it would be in vain; she would just be knocked back down again by her legs buckling beneath her. She is helpless to do anything but lie on the floor in a heap and sob from the pain; a pain that is just as physical as it is mental. It feels like a tourniquet has been tightened around her windpipe; rendering her words useless except in brief gasps. She is still gasping when Jamie comes in and even more so when he runs off to get his dad; she doesn't want him to see her like this but she can't help it. Her body has taken over all control.

"Max!" Dylan rushes over to her and tries to wrap her in his arms but she pushes him away; shaking as she does so. His touch is like molten rock and it does not offer an ounce of comfort; if it does anything it makes her feel worse. It makes her feel much worse than she already did and makes the space on her finger feel as if it is blackening. She pushes him off of her and makes a gesture at him to get rid of their son who is staring at her with a mix of curiosity and horror from the doorway. She is going to throw up; she can feel the acid rising in her stomach and she will not be able to hold it there for long. She won't do it in front of Jamie. She's never been sick in front of him and she's not about to start.

"James," He turns to their son with an utmost honesty, his tone is one of reassurance and complete calm; a tone that only a well-tuned parent can pull off and also a tone that Dylan has long-since mastered. It is complete shit, but Jamie, with his four-year-old mind, buys into it fully and is almost hypnotized by it. His eyes don't leave her body nestled into itself on the floor, but they do take on a sort of dream-like quality that suggests that he isn't quite seeing it clearly. He is obviously caught on his father, just as she would be if not for the flames making their home throughout her body.

"James, you need to go upstairs and call Grandma to come pick you up, okay?" The little boy nods and a faint sense of relief runs through her; she sees the same reflected on Dylan's face. "I'll tell you what, Big Guy, if Grandma says it's okay how about you go ahead and pack an overnight bag? Just put a few of your toys in there and I'll come up and help you with the rest of it in a minute, okay?"

Again he nods and the second his back is turned she feels everything inside of her stomach empty. The acid burns her throat as it comes up but it is nothing compared with the hole that has surely formed around her finger; the hole that just seems to get bigger with each heave of air that she takes. Dylan pulls some of her hair back but his hand burns as it brushes her back; she needs to put on that ring. In order to feel better she has to put on that ring; she has to be able to pretend that her right hand is still whole, that it has not been chopped out from beneath of her with the loss of her man.

"Max," He tries to make her look at him but she can't. She can't stop vomiting long enough to even catch a glimpse of his eyes and even if she could she wouldn't be able to see through the tears that are cascading like Grand Rapids down her cheeks. "Max, baby, what happened? What's the matter?"

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak, but she has to. She swallows down the bile that has already risen to her mouth; she swallows it back and forces her voice to level for just enough time to say what she needs. "My jewelry box…in my jewelry box, third drawer second compartment… a gold box... bring it in here…please."

He shakes his head but gets up just in time for her to begin to dry-vomit, something she hasn't done in ages and that she hadn't missed at all. She watches in disgust as her tears mix in with the pool that is surrounding her; the pool that she feels she is definitely lying in. It is soaking into the back of her shirt and she can feel it beginning to stick to her skin. She doesn't care; she can't. It takes seconds but it feels like hours before Dylan reemerges carrying that little, tiny box; something like bliss sweeps through her as he puts it carefully into her hands. She doesn't look at him as she opens it and doesn't try and contain the stifled sob that escapes her as she slips it onto her finger. The relief is instant. Like ice in a heat wave; tears prick at her eyes but this time they are of nothing but pure relief. The shine of the ring is just as bright as it was the day that she got it; it resurrects him from the grave of her memory and suddenly it is like he is back with her.

In that same moment Fang is back with her, beside her where he should be; standing exactly where Dylan stood not seconds earlier. Dylan is nowhere in sight and she is just about to reach out and embrace the boy but then he speaks, he opens his mouth and he is no longer her right-hand man. He is just the bird-kid who intruded on and therefore wrecked her perfect life.

"Max, what happened? What was wrong with you, sweetie?" She flinches away from the nickname; remembering how once upon a time the true love of her life had called her just that. It had sounded much better when he said it. His touch doesn't burn her this time but it isn't exactly pleasant either, she allows him to hold her, though, and shows him the newspaper headline with little-to-no introduction. Comprehension floods across his face immediately and he turns ashen white as he nods.

"Baby, I'm so sorry…" He shakes his head, "God, how did this even happen?" There is another moment of silence before he looks at her, "Do you think the others know?"

She shakes her head, "I don't know. I don't know… I…I have to go…to the funeral… I have to."

He just nods and pushes her head gently into his chest, "Do what you have to do. I'll stay here with Jamie… we'll be okay."

She nods, she doesn't really believe it but she nods anyway… they might be okay… she's not worried about them… the question is will she?

**A/N: This idea just kind of hit me one day and I'm hoping to continue it but it will take reviews to make it worthwhile. Now, some of you may have been confused by this chapter but rest assured that all will be explained in due time as long as you review… please and thank you.**


	2. Chapter 2

She watches in silence as he pops the tape into his audio device, as his face goes from pale to an unbecoming pallor of bone white all in a matter of minutes. His hands clench rapidly around the thing, a second passes, no more, before the ear buds are ripped with savagery out from his ears; the thing flies a good distance, almost to the trash can before hitting down. Crashing, just as its owner has.

"Goddammit, Fang!" He drives his fist into the table, not just once but repeatedly. Splinters are beginning to arise but either he doesn't notice or he doesn't care; tears trek down his cheeks and she's a feeling that it's not from the physical pain. Without a word she moves to the other side of the bench, an arm slipping around him as she does so. "Dammit."

His last word is broken up by sobs and his body wracks with them; she swallows back her words of wisdom, knowing from her experience with Dylan that they aren't words to offer as comfort. She will give him a couple of minutes, and then she will start in. Doubt clouds her mind as to whether or not this was the right way to tell him, really it should have been Ella's job, but she had pulled out, insisting that it was a flock thing. It's a flock thing yet there are only two flock members, the irony is not lost on her.

When he starts to quiet she wets her lips, not all that surprised to find them dry as dirt. "I don't- I don't know what- what happened." She chokes on a sob, finds herself unbelieving in the fact that sobs still exist within her, that her body can even still support them after yesterday. His arm goes around her but that's about it, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder is near the limits of his abilities, he's in shock. She's not got to look too far to remind herself what that felt like yesterday, what that feels like right now. She is barely here, just enough to get Iggy through this, just enough to get someone to lean on, a member of the original flock, someone who knew Fang the same way she did. There are only two of them left now, at least that's the best of her knowledge, two of six that she can actually locate, that she can actually be in communication with. One of those two is herself, the other is sitting beside her, head down and eyes squeezed shut. She could tell him that that doesn't work, that the tears fall out anyway.

She gets her breath back and starts again. "I don't know what happened to him, Iggy. He was a member of our flock and . . . and he's dead and I don't know what happened." She turns to look at him, tears glittering in her eyes. Her voice breaks and when it comes back she can hardly hear it. "Iggy, what if I could have saved him?"

"Don't do that to yourself." His answer is sharp, sharper than she would have figured possible in present circumstances. There is comfort to be found in that, she decides, not a lot, but some. "Don't go and blame yourself for something that you have no idea about, that we have no idea about. He's gone, I think we'll both be better off if we just leave it there."

"I don't think I can." Her voice is strained to the point of, had they decided to have this meeting outside, he wouldn't have been able to hear her. "It's- it's all I dreamed about last night, the exact same dream, over and over again. He was- he was standing right there, right in front of me but I couldn't grab him. I couldn't call out or- or anything. I just had to- had to watch as- as a White Coat came up from the space behind him. There wasn't anything there- he just- he just appeared. He just appeared and he- he ripped off his wings. Feather by feather he ripped off his wings, Iggy, all night."

"You think the White Coats had something to do with it?" He seems to jump onto the possibility as his face wrinkles up in thought, one that she hadn't considered until now. One that seems even more likely by the minute, more possible by the minute, more frightening by the minute; Iggy doesn't stop. "I heard up to the part about possibly being drug related . . . drug related because of needle marks dotting the arms!" It's like a light bulb has gone off, if I weren't so miserable I would feel proud; I don't get it. If I really think about it I'm not even sure if I read the entire article, I was a bit more concerned about how a ghost was taking the spot of my spouse beside me . . . my bad.

"Fang wasn't a drug addict; there would be no need, which leaves only one answer." He turns a triumphant face towards me, at least for a moment forgetting that his best friend is dead; that Fang was murdered. He notes my silence without comment and continues on, "They're collecting DNA."

"But why would they do that?" I know the answer as soon as the question slides from my lips, it is so simple, so heart-stoppingly simple that for a moment we just sit there, suspended in disbelief, or at least as much disbelief as can be retained from growing up in the School. "They're building a new breed of mutations."

He nods at me, as if congratulating me for my efforts.

**A/N: Not at all how I expected this chapter would turn out, but this was the only way another chapter was going to be written, so I figured why not give it a shot? Tell me what you think and if you have an idea burning in your head that you want me to use let me know, I'm kind of trying to decide if I want to show the rest of them finding out the news or not; would you like that, you one or two people still reading this? Please let me know in your review. **


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